


Exposed

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NSFW, but also probably not safe for wanking either, not safe for anything really, not safe for work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: Heaven sends a little reminder about true natures.





	Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the narration’s comment that human was Crowley’s “favourite shape” and on Hastur’s maggot scene.
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/159864827815/exposed

Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship had been changing.

It changed that first night they slept in the same bed.  It had been the first night after the world had almost ended, and neither of them could bear to part.  But Crowley had gotten into the habit of sleeping, so he’d simply crawled into bed and asked Aziraphale if he wanted to join him, which he had.  Aziraphale made a show of saying he was going to read while Crowley slept, but when the demon woke up the next morning the angel was sprawled out with his mouth hanging open, snoring more loudly than Crowley himself ever had.  So much for being ever-vigilant.

They had slept in the same bed in the past, occasionally, when space or circumstances made it necessary. But this felt different.  It was a step up.

Without consciously agreeing to it, they slept in the same bed the next night.  And the next.  They alternated between Crowley’s flat and the upstairs apartment in Aziraphale’s shop. It became a habit.  It seemed natural.  And in the same way they slipped into something else when they woke up to find that not only were they cuddling, but neither of them really minded it, and would in fact prefer to stay that way for a few more minutes before disengaging.

Things progressed from “accidentally” holding each other while half asleep to going to bed in each other’s arms.  Aziraphale stubbornly insisted on pretending he was ostensibly using the bed as a comfortable place to read, but Crowley could tell he was not actually reading because he never turned the pages and sometimes the book was open but not in his line of sight.

Aziraphale gave that up eventually and put his book on the nightstand when Crowley crawled into bed beside him.  His newly freed-up hands found places on Crowley’s body previously unexplored, at first staying on his chest, then moving gradually lower with each passing night. Crowley eventually switched from sleeping facing away from Aziraphale to sleeping facing him so he could reciprocate.

This, too, seemed natural. Enveloped in the dark, calm safety of a bedroom, with no sensation but the light breathing and warmth of the body next to them, it seemed like it would be natural to do anything together.

And they did.  They started small and worked their way up, testing and laughing when they made embarrassing mistakes but getting it right most of the time and being so, so satisfied with the results.

Much was left unspoken between them.  But their feelings were clear enough.

They were clear to each other, but they were also clear to an interested third party who had been watching this progression with a certain amount of disgust, waiting for the line to be crossed after which punishment was appropriate.

* * *

“Get that out of the way, would you?”

Crowley reached behind him and scooted over a potted plant he had left in Aziraphale’s shop.  This made room for his arse as Aziraphale pushed him against the counter, kissing him deeply with his arms firmly around him, leaning him back.  Crowley returned the kisses hungrily, his fingers working at the hem of Aziraphale’s ugly jumper, eager to begin.

“Go ahead,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley ripped the jumper off, impatient to get it out of his sight. He attacked that horrendous tie next, unraveling it while Aziraphale’s hands worked at Crowley’s expensive trousers.

Clothing was one of the things they had never been able to see eye-to-eye on, but luckily it played no part in their plans.

“Upstairs,” said Aziraphale simply when it became obvious they could not continue where they were, in view of the shop window.  He made sure the door was locked while Crowley scampered upstairs, shedding his coat and shirt on the banister.

He hopped up onto the bed in just his trousers, and Aziraphale came in behind him, shutting the door, pulling them into that bubble of safety and comfort once again.

They continued on the bed. Crowley lay back, and Aziraphale straddled him, leaning over to kiss him greedily.  Crowley struggled to get Aziraphale’s shirt off while the angel did not cooperate, focusing instead on running his hands down Crowley’s body. He elicited a delicious curve of the spine and a sharp intake of breath when his hands reached the small of Crowley’s back, and he used the space to cup his arse.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments.

“You’re so beautiful,” said Aziraphale, lowering himself to murmur it in Crowley’s collarbone.

Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s hair.  “I dunno, my body’s a bit funny-looking compared to yours.”

“I love everything about you,” began Aziraphale.  He planted a kiss on top of his head.  “Your dark hair.”  Another on his forehead.  “Your magnificent brain.”  Another on the bridge of his nose.  “Your cute little nose.”  A full-on kiss on the lips.  It was a few minutes before they pulled apart so he could say, “Your absolutely delightful and kissable lips.”

He moved down to Crowley’s shoulder.  “Your collarbone, right here.”  Lower. “Your tummy.”

“Tummy,” Crowley repeated.

Aziraphale snorted a little. “Is that not dignified enough?”

Crowley raised himself up, hips grinding against Aziraphale, pressing his erection against him. Aziraphale let out a small noise.

“Nothing about this is dignified,” Crowley answered.  “And that’s why we love it.”

Aziraphale, shaking with barely suppressed desire, tugged Crowley’s trousers down.  Crowley returned the favour.  The pants came off next; then they lay there completely naked and tangled in each other’s limbs, Crowley’s legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s hips and his arms around his shoulders.

“Do you want to do it this time?” said Aziraphale.  “Like we talked about?”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “Put it in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Are you sure?”

“Yes, I want to also.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Blast!” said Aziraphale. “All right, let’s do it.”

“Hold on,” said Crowley. “This is my first time, so we should…”

“Should what?”

“I don’t know.  What did we say we were going to do again?”

“Safety.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale held his hand up and materialized a condom in-between his fingers.  “Is this good?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale lowered it to try and open it, but Crowley snatched it from him and tore it open. Aziraphale resumed kissing him while Crowley unrolled it onto Aziraphale’s erection.  Aziraphale suspected Crowley was taking his time on purpose, lingering on his shaft with those torturous fingertips.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed when he could take the teasing no longer.  Crowley let out a devilish giggle and finally finished up. He lay back, and Aziraphale positioned himself between Crowley’s legs.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Crowley bit his lip to keep from crying out as the penetration happened.  Aziraphale pushed all the way in, barely able to suppress a moan of his own.  They stayed like that for a moment, Crowley’s thighs squeezing Aziraphale’s hips, his hands frantically grabbing Aziraphale’s shoulders, and Aziraphale’s hands planted on either side of Crowley.  Aziraphale lowered himself down to kiss him once again.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale gave a few experimental thrusts, withdrawing and pushing back in with small bucks of his hips. Crowley let out a new and different sound each time, in the throes of pleasure.  His hand found Aziraphale’s and guided it to his own cock. Aziraphale obligingly wrapped his hand around Crowley’s length, but he got revenge for Crowley’s teasing earlier by only making small movements, squeezing it.

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Fuck.   _Fuck._ ”

“You like that?”

“ _Yes._ ”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to maintain some sense of dignity and suppress the sounds, but the heat and tightness was too much for him.

There was suddenly a change in the sensations.  The warmth was replaced by something cool, and the pressure lessened as though Crowley’s flesh were becoming less coherent somehow, and something was wiggling against him through the condom.  Simultaneously, a sharp pain lanced through his hands.

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open. He was lying on top of something dreadful.  His cock was buried in rotting flesh swarming with maggots and roaches and crawling insects.  A bloated tail patterned with diseased scales was squeezing his midsection, and the arms wrapped around him felt clammy and wet.  White pus and black ooze squelched against midsection, festering decay alternating with patches of spines pricking him.  Aziraphale’s hands were wrapped around some appendage thornier than a cactus, needles sunk into his skin all the way up to the base.

And the face.  Oh, _God_ , the face.

Never in 6,000 years had Aziraphale ever had an erection wilt as fast as his did now.  Aziraphale pulled away immediately.  The monster in the bed with him flailed, letting out inhuman sounds, raking tracks in the mattress with its claws.

Aziraphale could not suppress the cry of distress that welled up in his throat.  Crowley’s bestial eyes flashed on him.

The demon dissolved with a shriek, exploding into maggots and flies that flowed away in every direction almost instantaneously.  They disappeared through the floorboards, the cracked window, under the door, and between the ceiling tiles.

Aziraphale lifted his hands, dismayed.  Blood welled from the cuts in his hands and streamed down his forearms.  He cursed.

“Crowley?”

When he did not get a response, he went to the loo, holding his bloodied hands upright, trying not to get blood on the floor.

He flicked the light on with a miracle.  Red droplets dripped into the sink as he turned the water on, trying to wash the cuts out.

He cursed as he felt something writhing near his groin.  He looked down to see a few maggots were still writhing on the condom, and he tore it off, brushing himself off with repulsion.

“You disgusting little creatures!” he said, stomping on one.

He went back to washing his hands, trying desperately to clean himself off, trying to wash that revolting feeling off himself. He healed his hands with a miracle, unable to bear it any longer.  Then he jumped in the shower, steaming hot water scalding him, but he stood under it for a solid five minutes until his skin was bright red, anything to flush that memory out of his mind.

He shut the water off. And then he stood there in the billowing steam with his arms around himself.

Aziraphale’s answering machine kicked on without the phone even ringing first.  “Hello?  Aziraphale? This is Gabriel.”

Aziraphale let water drip off from his hair.

“Did you like that?” said Gabriel.  “You seemed to be getting quite cozy with your adversary, so we thought it might be a good idea to give you a little reminder about his true nature.”

Aziraphale tensed up.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice, Aziraphale?  It’s one thing to fudge your paperwork a bit to make it look like you’re doing more work than you are, but surely you must have realized we would take note of _this._  That you were using a demon as your personal whore.  I thought that his human form was probably what was making him palatable to you, so I took it upon myself to remove it so you could see the real him.”

“Stop it,” said Aziraphale sorrowfully.

“I think I’ve made myself plenty clear,” said Gabriel.  “And I won’t iterate this any further.  Goodbye, Aziraphale.  I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

The machine clicked off. Aziraphale stood in the shower as the steam dissipated.

“How dare you?” said Aziraphale.  “What gives you the right?”

Aziraphale stepped out of the shower, getting angry.  He was angry at Gabriel.  But he was also angry at himself.

His eyes fell to the maggots he had smashed earlier, now lying motionless on the floor.

And then he knew what he needed to do to stick it to Gabriel.  He did not really want to do it.  But he could imagine what Crowley was feeling right now, and he knew it needed to be done.

* * *

Aziraphale guessed that Crowley would have gone back to his flat, and the maggots on the doorknob of his front door in Mayfair confirmed that.  Aziraphale brushed them off and let himself in without asking.

A trail of dead flies and still-twitching cockroaches led from the front door into the bedroom. Aziraphale braced himself and made his way over.  He miracled the bedroom door open and peeked inside.

There was a lumpy shape trembling under the covers, odd spines poking up here and there.  A forked tail had been hanging down from under the duvet, but when Aziraphale opened the door and let light into the room, it withdrew from sight.

“Crowley?”

“Go away,” said Crowley’s voice.  His voice was warped now, deeper, gravelly, and halting as though he were speaking with a mouthful of broken teeth.

Contrary to instructions, Aziraphale came inside and shut the door behind him.  He fingered the knob idly, trying to decide how to start.

“Crowley,” he said again, softer this time.

A cockroach crawled out from under the duvet.  Aziraphale forced himself to ignore it.

“I can’t remember how to change back,” said Crowley.  “I was always afraid of this happening.”

Aziraphale walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

Crowley shied away. “We both know you don’t want to see me like this, so just get out of here until I’m acceptable again, all right?”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, fingers hovering at the edge of the duvet.  “Come on.  I’ve seen you like this before, remember?”

Aziraphale pulled the duvet back a little bit, exposing a pair of yellow eyes set in a head with horns spiraling out from clammy, decayed skin.  In lieu of tears, black goo oozed from his eyes down his cheeks.

“Don’t try and coddle me, Aziraphale,” said Crowley, hunkering down.  “I can’t even cry properly like this.”

Aziraphale swallowed and reached out, cupping his cheek—or at least, what he guessed was his cheek based on the relative position of his eyes.  He wiped the tar from his cheek with his thumb.

“You’re always acceptable to me,” said Aziraphale.  “Because I love you for the things we share together.  For the way you really are, deep down.”

“This is how I am _deep down,_ ” Crowley hissed angrily.  “No matter how I dress myself or how many flats I live in or what kind of alcohol I drink or however many humans or angels I befriend or bloody apocalypses I try to stop—”  His voice cracked. “It doesn’t change what I am.  I’ll never be anything other than a disgusting beast that others want to crush under their heel.  I’ll never be like you or the humans.”

Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley’s horns, caressing his hair.

“Stop it!” Crowley cried, jerking his head away from him.  “Stop pretending like it’s all right!  I know you’re repulsed by me!  Humans walk around with their free will, touching each other and liking each other and I was a fool for thinking I could ever have that.  I’ll never have anything like that.  I’m no different than Hastur is.”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “You can have me.  Would that be so bad?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to be human or angel, Crowley.  You can just be what you _are_ —without shame or guilt.”

The duvet fell down as Crowley reared up.  “No shame? Are you serious?  Look at me.  Look me in the eye and tell me you like me like this.”

Aziraphale braced himself, wrote the outfit he was wearing off as a loss, and crushed Crowley in a hug.

He felt something seeping into his shirt as he did so, but he didn’t dare look down to see what it was. He also felt insects squirming on his arms, but he endured it.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s deformed body relax in his arms, then begin to shake with silent sobs.

“It’s all right,” said Aziraphale.  He drew back to see that Crowley’s eyes were leaking black ooze again.  He tried to wipe it off with his sleeve.

Crowley let out a choked laugh and said, “Looks like I finally found something that will make you not want to wear that horrible outfit again.”

Aziraphale stood and faced Crowley, taking his jumper off.

Aziraphale’s true form was normally quite large, but he forced it to manifest small enough that he would still fit in the room.  His body vanished, leaving a figure glowing faintly, one with four different faces and hoofed legs.  Crowley watched with blurred vision.

Aziraphale folded his strangely bent legs to kneel by the bed.  His lion’s mouth brushed lightly against Crowley’s shoulder.

“We _aren’t_ human,” said Aziraphale gently, his voice reverberating softly.  “There’s no point in trying to pretend that we are, no matter how much we love this planet. You’ll cause yourself nothing but misery trying to be something you aren’t, Crowley.  You _are_ a demon, and you always will be.  But what makes you different from someone like Hastur isn’t your body or your appearance.  It’s your heart.”

Aziraphale’s oxen nose brushed Crowley’s head.  “I love everything about you.  I love your stringy hair.”  He nosed at his horns next.  “I love your horns.”  He moved on to Crowley’s cheek.  It took all his willpower to touch it, but he did it.  “I love your face.  I love your nose and your yellow eyes.”  He nosed his shoulder, carefully.  “And I think I can even love all the spines and pointy things all over you.  The point is I love _you_ , Crowley.  However you are.”

Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale, burying his face in his chest.  Aziraphale returned the gesture, this time getting muck and bugs all over his true form.

“Come on,” said Aziraphale. “We don’t need to be so overdramatic.”

“Sorry,” said Crowley, sniffling.

Aziraphale lumbered up onto the bed, curling up around Crowley.  “Why don’t we go to sleep like we usually do, hm?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley balled up in Aziraphale’s flank, wrapping his tail around himself.  Aziraphale draped his wings over them both, all six pairs, and they remained like that in their tent of safety and comfort until they were good and ready to face the world again.

**Author's Note:**

> My friend made a drawing for this :D http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/159879647055/la-petite-robe-jaune-from-not-a-space-alien-s


End file.
